Heirs of the Underdark
by tyrnfrd
Summary: Sequel to Thirdboy. House Do'Urden are Seventh House of Menzoberranzan, but in a tenuous position with the other noble houses on their guard against them. To survive, and to thrive, they will need new allies in the city of the Drow.
1. In the Beginning

**Chapter 1: In The Beginning**

Matron Malice Do'Urden, Matron Mother of Daermon N'a'shezbaernon, Seventh House of Menzoberranzan, awoke with a start, gasping in lungfuls of air. Sitting up, she glanced around the room. For some reason she found herself in the Weapons Hall of the Do'Urden compound, instead of her Throne Room or her private chambers, and surrounded by a strange and eclectic mix of beings. Her brother and unwilling lover, Zaknafein, lay on a couch opposite her, clearly recovering from life-threatening wounds, a state in which Malice was quite used to seeing drow elves, but rather less used to seeing Zaknafein. Her eldest son and middle daughter stood some ways away quietly conferring, while a human child slept at the foot of the couch on which she herself lay. And in the corner, her youngest son Drizzt, the pride of House Do'Urden, as much as a male could be the pride of a drow Noble House, sat in quiet meditation next to the thirdboy of House Baenre, the First House of the city, and indisputably the most powerful.

Malice sighed. She was getting too old for this. Then she smirked. Who was she trying to fool? This was what Malice Do'Urden lived for - chaos, power, and a side of cold-blooded murder. "Vierna!" she barked. "What in the Nine Hells is going on here? Did we win? Or should I be expecting my fiery death any moment now?" Her daughter fixed her with a level gaze.

"Do'Urden is the Seventh House," she spoke, causing a wide, cruel smile to bloom on Malice's face, "but Matron Malice was almost replaced by Matron Briza. You have the Baenre to thank that such an event did not come to pass. And even now Briza is probably gathering support, hoping your life will end tonight either naturally, or unnaturally." The smile slipped from Malice's face with Vierna's words. It was no surprise, of course, that Briza would want to take Malice's place, and Malice had been foolish to over-exert herself as she did. But now, there was a coup to stop, before it could begin. Malice swung her legs from the couch to the hard stone floor, and with a snap of her fingers the Matron's robes restored themselves to freshness, clinging in all the right places to her lithe body. She looked around at her small band of supporters.

"Let's go."

* * *

In the end, retaking control of House Do'Urden was rather simple. Matron Malice was well in Lloth's favour as the architect of a near-unprecedented rise from Tenth House to Seventh House within four decades. Briza, on the other hand, had just failed a clumsy assassination attempt, and despite her fervour for the Spider Queen, was rather lower in Lloth's favour. Had the entirety of House Do'Urden backed Briza, perhaps she could still have taken control, but without even the full support of the nobles of the house, Briza's cause failed the moment that Malice woke up.

As a consequence of this, Briza found herself kneeling before Malice in the Throne Room, waiting for judgement.

"I will overlook your actions this time," the Matron Mother spoke, "but it would behoove you not to make such a lapse in judgement again. House Do'Urden will need all its strength in this time of troubles, but if you are not contributing to our strength, then you are _expendable_." This final phrase was hissed, as Malice reached out and lifted Briza into the air by her chin. "Now get out!" the matron roared, tossing her effortlessly towards the door, and Briza scuttled away, like one of her precious spiders. Matron Malice turned her dark gaze on Dinin and Maya.

"Briza will not be leaving the chapel for some time now, except by my command. Her punishment is perhaps too light, but as with her, so with you. Dinin! You will return to your teaching role at Melee-Magthere. You will not return to the house without my order. You will be on your own, but you are expected to serve House Do'Urden faithfully. Do not disappoint me, or I will give you to Nalfein to do as he sees fit." The braggadocious secondboy visibly flinched at this threat, and bowed deeply before turning and fleeing, following his sister's lead.

"And now you, Maya," Matron Malice crooned. This alone was enough to send the matron's youngest daughter to her knees, prostrating herself on the floor. "I am disappointed in you, daughter," Malice continued, in a sickly sweet tone, "I thought I had raised you with more intelligence than to pick the losing side, and to be so obvious about it. Briza and Dinin are strong, but the true strength of this house lies in our craftiness, not our strength. Do not disappoint me again," she commanded, "or it will be the last thing you do. Now, you are assigned to heal Zaknafein for as long as it takes, and then you can take charge of the teaching of Drizzt's little _iblith _toy. If you can complete this task to satisfaction, you may resume your training to become a high priestess." Maya's face paled to an ashen grey. The double insult of tending to a lowly male, and then also of teaching a non-drow was almost enough to make Maya prefer the offer of death. But Maya was truly her mother's child, and all things would pass, while ambition would remain the same.

* * *

It was a strange duo that traversed Menzoberranzan's stone streets in the early morning heat of Narbondel. A pair of dark-skinned, white-haired elves, the eyes of one red, and of the other violet, clad in masterworked armour and _piwafwis_, each with two blades hanging from their hips. From the Do'Urden compound in the West Wall to the spiderweb fence of the House Baenre compound on the plateau of Qu'ellarz'orl they walked together in silence. By the time that they completed their journey, Narbondel had risen almost to its zenith, shining brightly above the city as the two thirdboys arrived at their destination. A nod was exchanged, and the red-eyed drow stepped inside the spiderweb fence, as the violet-eyed drow turned his back, and strode back into the city.

**Author's Note: Thanks for reading. This is the first chapter (really more of a prologue) for the sequel to _Thirdboy_. If you haven't read that, you probably should do so first. I own nothing recognizable from published works.**


	2. The Council of Eight

**Chapter 2: The Council of Eight**

The Matron Mothers of six of Menzoberranzan's Noble Houses sat around a small table in the sealed chapel of Barrison Del'Armgo, Second House of Menzoberranzan. These Matron Mothers met regularly, known as the Council of Eight, yet this day two houses were excluded from their number, and for this reason they met in the chapel of the Second House, rather than that of the First House. Matron Fey-Branche, newly appointed to the Council was doing her utmost to conceal her nerves. This secret meeting was her first, the loss of House Faen Tlabbar, now No House Worth Mentioning, so recent, and her own ascension to the Council along with it. Matron Del'Armgo was nervous too, but her nerves were sealed far behind the strong mental walls requisite for the second most powerful drow elf in all of Menzoberranzan. Directly to her right sat Matron Oblodra of the Third House, casting a suspicious stare at all around her, and receiving equal suspicion in return, especially from Matron Xorlarrin of the Fourth House, her long-time rival. The matrons of Agrach Dyrr and Mizzrym, the Fifth and Sixth Houses respectively, sat close together and murmured quietly as they waited. These six drow females held the fate of the city in their hands, and none among them wanted to rush proceedings today. Just figuring out a way to meet secretly in a city where eyes and ears were everywhere, and betrayals were more common than loyalty, had been a miracle of planning and preparation. In Menzoberranzan only House Baenre could act openly, and it was expected that even the simplest of tasks would be hidden under at least a layer or two of misdirection. Sufficient layers of misdirection to cover a meeting of three quarters of Menzoberranzan's ruling council had taken great feats of legerdemain and deception.

Eventually, Mez'Barris Armgo, Matron Mother of Barrison Del'Armgo, Second House of Menzoberranzan, spoke. A tall, powerful female, approaching her last few centuries of life, her voice reverberated from the chapel walls. "Berg'inyon Baenre was seen in the Do'Urden compound on the night that Faen Tlabbar became No House Worth Mentioning. I have testimony from a variety of sources on this matter. The previous day, many of our most promising graduates of Melee-Magthere were found dead, killed in an ambush outside the city. Most remain dead, yet a small number were also seen in the Do'Urden compound that night. We do not speak openly of such things in Menzoberranzan, and they are usually overlooked if the feat is accomplished before anyone takes notice. But this concerns me. Matron Malice and Matron Baenre may be dangerous to the balance of this city, my sisters. It has not passed any one of us by that we have had three of our own members removed from our ranks in the past half century, and three new added, including Daermon N'a'shezbaernon. I ask your thoughts on this matter, that we might avoid any more losses at the hands of Malice's ambition and Baenre's conceit."

Matron Auro'pol Dyrr, of the Fifth House, spoke quietly into the silence following Mez'Bariss' pronouncement. As she folded her hands on the table in front of her, animated embroidery spiders danced on the sleeves of her robe. "Finally seeing the pitfalls of relying only on your own house, Mez'Barris?" Then, louder, she continued, "and yet who among us does not remember your own rapid elevation to this council, barely a century past, and it cannot be said that Matron Baenre never called Mez'Barris Armgo to visit with her in private. The fears of Barrison Del'Armgo are not the fears of this council, Mez'Barris." Auro'pol noted the small smirk on the face of the matron sitting opposite her - it was no secret that K'yorl Odran wanted Mez'Barris knocked out of that spot, as the Matron of the Third House felt it was hers by right, but House Barrison Del'Armgo had been raised to Second House instead, directly from Sixteenth. Auro'pol knew better than to overlook the small, plain psionicist, possibly the most dangerous individual drow elf in all of Faerȗn.

Halavin Fey-Branche continued to watch on in silence as the five other Matron Mothers talked. Dry comments and veiled insults abounded, with references to events unfamiliar to Halavin. The elderly Matron of the Eighth House had witnessed more of Menzoberranzan's history than any of the others, but in the secret histories of Menzoberranzan's Ruling Council of Eight, and in the relationships between its members, she was a true neophyte. Eventually the meeting petered out, with every Matron Mother looking at the same time both satisfied and disgruntled with the outcome, whatever it was. To Halavin it seemed no decision had been made, nor any deals, trades or alliances. Yet at some unspoken moment the other five seemed to declare business concluded, pushing back their chairs in unison and standing to withdraw.

Mez'Barris Armgo was much more fluent in the unspoken language of the Council, a step of concealment of intention beyond even the ordinary misdirection that was a fact of life in Menzoberranzan. Veteran of over a century on the Council of Eight, though still one of the junior members in age if not in status, the outcome of the meeting was clear. Barrison Del'Armgo were on their own if they wished to take aim at House Daermon N'a'shezbaernon or House Baenre, and the Council would not support them, neither would the individual Houses represented. However, and this was the cause of Mez'Barris' smirk as she settled into her throne, having left the chapel behind, it was clear, though unspoken, that every Matron Mother who had been in the meeting would be investigating very carefully any weaknesses of the First House and the Seventh House. All to the benefit of House Barrison Del'Armgo.

* * *

Scimitars whirled in the Weapons Hall of House Do'Urden, rhythm interrupted in staccato clangs as a pair of longswords were interposed into their paths. Again and again patterns built up and broke down, adamantine blades speeding with vicious force as Drizzt Do'Urden battled valiantly against Zaknafein Do'Urden, Weapon Master of House Do'Urden and previously undisputed premier swordsman of Menzoberranzan. Blades met once again, then Zaknafein disengaged with a slight flourish and stepped away, sheathing his twin swords and retrieving a towel to dry the sweat from his forehead. "It won't be long until you surpass me," the elder drow commented, a hint of pride in his voice as he gazed at his opponent, a young warrior barely out of his adolescence, violet eyes flaming in the infrared spectrum of drow darkvision.

"Some time yet, perhaps, Zaknafein," spoke a light female voice from the entryway, "Maya says you're still not fully fighting fit, although I daresay you could still defeat any opponent in Menzoberranzan not named Drizzt. It might behoove you to learn not to charge directly into the path of a wizard's lightning bolt in future also, however good an idea it might seem at the time." Vierna stepped into the room and closed the heavy door behind her, receiving a good-humored grin in return from Zaknafein, and a smile from Drizzt. She stepped quickly across the room to Zaknafein and muttered a quick healing cantrip, relieving his weariness from the practice bout. "Matron Malice wants to see you both in the throne room," the high priestess continued, before pausing to sniff the air dramatically. "Although, I suggest you bathe first."

Zaknafein groaned and strode off towards his quarters, already beginning to disrobe, but Drizzt just looked at Vierna expectantly. "Aren't you going to heal my tiredness too?" he asked cheekily, pushing the very limits of correct drow behaviour. With this older sister, Drizzt could get away with a little bit of familiarity, despite the low station of a male in drow society, but had he tried it with Briza or Maya, he would have found himself in a world of pain from their many-headed snake whips.

Fortunately, Vierrna took it in good humour and stepped closer, lowering her voice as she spoke quietly into his ear. "Come to my chambers later," she said, "and I'll see what I can do about _relieving_ you." With that, she stepped back, spun on her heel, and sashayed out of the Weapons Hall. Drizzt sighed and began to stretch out his wearied muscles before heading off to bathe.

Before too long Drizzt and Zaknafein were standing in the throne room before a rejuvenated Matron Malice. She had never shown any weariness, but the days after the battle she had only made public appearances in brief spells, and only for long enough to accomplish the business at hand. Now her red eyes gleamed as she dealt with the business of her court. Drizzt and Zaknafein were made to wait for some time as she consulted with a variety of commoners on matters of business and house finances, but once the monotonous dealings were completed, Malice motioned the two males forward, and dismissed all the other drow still in the room.

Matron Malice reclined in her seat as the great doors sealed shut. "Drizzt," she purred, "Zaknafein. My two most faithful warriors. I have tasks for you. Zaknafein, Dinin has done a barely adequate job of keeping up the standards of our soldiers while you were on your _journey_ with Jarlaxle. Now we have lost many drow warriors in the fighting, and we must not be vulnerable. It has been too long since our Weapon Master has put his undivided attention to the soldiery, for even before your little trip, you spent much of your time on Drizzt's education." Drizzt sensed that Zaknafein was disappointed, but the elder drow said nothing, and no twitch or facial expression gave any insight into his thoughts.

"And Drizzt," Matron Malice continued, "you have exceeded all expectations," and at this Zaknafein broke his mask and gave a humorous snort, "except those of our esteemed Weapon Master," Malice added wryly, "who assured me that you would be the greatest warrior in Menzoberranzan by the age of fifty. Although by Vierna's estimate you cannot be far away, and you have some years yet to reach that mark.

"Regardless, there can only be one Weapon Master of House Do'Urden, and that role is already filled. So I will employ your talents towards some of our house's more, _sensitive_, tasks." The powerful matron gestured towards the door. "Zaknafein, you may leave us now, I would talk with the thirdboy in private." To his credit, Zaknafein only hesitated a moment before exiting, casting one wary glance back at his protege. Then Drizzt and Malice were alone in the room.

"What do you know of our situation?" Malice questioned.

Drizzt blinked, surprised. Never had Malice spoken to him in such a way, prompting him to speak as though his knowledge was valuable and his input desired. Quickly, he began to recite the facts he thought most relevant, and most likely to be what Malice desired. "We are the Seventh House in Menzoberranzan, with forces numbering in the low three hundreds of warriors, over three score wizards of varying ability, and around two hundred and fifty priestesses, including three high priestesses and one soon to be." The dangers inherent in becoming a priestess of Lloth led to a great many deaths in training, and a far higher male population than female in Menzoberranzan, impressive given the vast danger of being a drow warrior in the Underdark. "This places us well below the two largest houses, Baenre and Barrison Del'Armgo, both of which can call upon more than a thousand warriors alone, but no lower than tenth in terms of numbers in Menzoberranzan. Our soldiers are also better trained than most, our compound well defended, and our nobles among the most powerful and well-situated in the city. In terms of political strength, we may only be behind the first two houses. We have no declared enemies, and House Baenre are supportive of us, if not openly. Our relationship with Bregan D'Aerthe could be considered better than most."  
Malice nodded approvingly. "This is all correct, and a fair assessment, given limited knowledge of our enemies' own strength. But you failed to mention two things, and these are the most crucial to our survival. Firstly, we have risen quickly. You do not remember when Do'Urden were Tenth House, for we became Ninth House on the night of your birth, but to rise from Tenth House to Seventh House in barely more than three decades is an achievement that will draw many unfriendly eyes. All six houses above us will look down in trepidation, and most would choose to strike first if they felt sufficiently threatened. And though we are strongly in Lloth's favour now, for an ambitious house below us, we may seem an easier target, weakened by decades of strife. And those who defeat a house in Lloth's favour tend to find themselves become even more in Lloth's favour.

"Secondly, you did not consider our finances. We are strong, but we will not remain that way if we cannot afford slaves for the kitchen, components for the wizards, arms and armour for the warriors, and sacrifices for Lloth. You are young yet, Drizzt, so you can be forgiven a lack of understanding of these matters," she explained, "but your adolescence is over now. You must be sword and shield for House Do'Urden. What say you now?"

Drizzt thought for a moment, considering the new information. "Our enemies will strike at our sources of income," he concluded aloud, "And our enemies are all houses between Baenre and Kenafin. No less than ten houses. Perhaps more."  
Malice smiled her wicked smile. "So you see. And it shall be Drizzt who shall protect us from these foes." Drizzt's face must have given away some hint of uncertainty, for she continued, "not alone, no. You shall have support from those that we can spare. But the other nobles of the family have their own responsibilities. You may pick a small team from those commoners available, and I shall provide you what financial resources we can spare. Maya will stop by your quarters tomorrow to brief you on our assets and help you select your team. Now leave me," she commanded, and Drizzt did so, thoughts rocketing around his brain.

* * *

So preoccupied with his thoughts was Drizzt that he found himself walking into his own room adjacent to the Weapons Hall before remembering that Vierna had requested him to join her after his meeting with Matron Malice. And from a drow female, especially one of equal or higher rank, a request was never truly a request, but a command. Sighing deeply, he set his heel and turned back towards the door to make his way to Vierna's chambers, only to be stopped by a warm hand to his chest. Forcefully, Vierna pushed him back, then slipped inside the room and kicked the door shut with her heel. "You followed me?" Drizzt asked, fighting off the surprise. Vierna didn't reply, only flashed a predatory smile, then stepped in close and kissed him, one hand taking a rough grip of his flowing white hair, the other of his firm buttock.

"Shush," she replied. "We'll talk later."


	3. Preliminaries

**Chapter 3: Preliminaries**

Narbondel's rise found Drizzt and Vierna tangled together, energies almost recuperated from being fully spent in the previous night's activities. Drizzt woke first and slid from the bed, walking towards the adjoining bathroom, but unable to resist a glance back at the swell of Vierna's breasts, only partially hidden by the covers. When he returned from his ablutions she was sitting up in bed, unashamed of her nudity. "So tell me, Drizzt, what did Matron Malice have to say?" Drizzt answered, providing as much detail as possible, yet still Vierna wanted to know more, Malice's tone of voice, her facial expressions, the exact amount to which the matron had reclined in her throne. Eventually, she stopped pressing for more information and spoke. "Interesting," she began, almost hesitant, as though tasting every word before she spoke it, "this raises some very interesting possibilities. Usually these kinds of activities would be assigned to Briza, and rightly so, for she is very dangerous in all the right ways for this kind of work. And Nalfein and Zaknafein are well-positioned with Bregan D'Aerthe for these kinds of dealings as well. So, either Malice is honest that they are too busy to do this work, in which case Briza is more deeply out of Malice's favour than I had thought possible, to be confined to the chapel duties even with the house in danger, and something is going on with the wizards of Sorcere that requires Nalfein's full attention, that must have equal possibility of danger for our house. Or, this is a test for you, Drizzt, to see if you can become the caliber of warrior that House Do'Urden needs, capable of rising to challenges not only of blades, but also of cunning."  
"There is one other option," replied Drizzt dourly. "It might be so bad that it needs all three of us."

Vierna gave an involuntary shudder. House Do'Urden had risen too rapidly, and now Vierna could almost feel the blades at her back. She rose from the bed and stepped towards the bathroom. "You will keep me informed," she snapped, "of every word, every action, every task you undertake. I have too many duties at Arach-Tinilith to be able to fully supervise you, but I shall need every scrap of information you can provide if House Do'Urden is to survive the coming earthquake, and to survive without Briza Do'Urden at its head."

Drizzt had almost completed his morning calisthenics by the time Vierna emerged from the bathroom, once again clad in the robes marking her as a high priestess of the Spider Queen. She looked at his still semi-naked body, glistening in sweat, smirked, and swept out the door. Moments later it reopened, and Drizzt looked up to see Maya entering. Breaking off his stretches, he sketched a hasty bow, appropriate for a noble male to give to a noble female. "Bathe, thirdboy," his sister snapped, clearly impatient, "and quickly. We have much to discuss."

After his quick bath, Drizzt was surprised that, instead of leading the way to the chapel or the throne room, Maya only led him next door, to the War Room. On reflection, however, he mused, he shouldn't have been surprised. In Menzoberranzan, subterfuge was an art of war. Upon entering, he was surprised by a small non-drow with bright red eyes rushing to stand behind him, putting Drizzt's entire body between the creature and Maya. It took Drizzt a moment to realize that this was Artemis, his eyes gleaming with the red glow of infravision. "Red eyes," he breathed, surprised.

"Yes," Maya responded sourly. "If he is to be your little _iblith _protector, he will need to be able to see. Matron Malice had me conduct a powerful ritual to grant him this blessing. You ought to be thankful."

"And how goes his teaching?" Drizzt enquired. He had not seen Artemis at all in the past weeks, as the human boy had been shut up with Maya, apparently undergoing vision rituals, but also supposedly being tutored in all the necessary language and knowledge to be a useful servant and bodyguard to a drow noble. He noted, however, that the human child still wore the jeweled dagger on his belt. Clearly the bodyguard part of his responsibilities were not to be postponed until he was fully grown.

"He learns slowly," snapped Maya, "but perhaps quickly for an inferior race," she conceded grudgingly. "Who can tell? But Zaknafein and Nalfein taught him sufficiently that he can understand most of my words. If he can learn to obey as well as he understands, he may yet be _adequate_ to serve our house. Anyway, his time with me is done, Matron Malice has given me leave to return to my studies," and here she glared at Drizzt, "_as soon_ as you are ready to begin this role. So learn quickly, thirdboy, or I will be most displeased."

It turned out that the war room had copies of all the Do'Urden financial documentation, lists of business holdings, statements of accounts, transactions, and owned assets. The numbers made Drizzt's head spin at first, but under Maya's ungentle tutoring he began to identify patterns in the numbers, and he began to build a mental model of the Do'Urden fiscal situation. Before too long, Maya left him alone with Artemis and the huge pile of ledgers, maps, and missives relating to his mission. Along with these, she handed him a small stack of files, each with a brief profile of a drow elf in service to House Do'Urden, and a rough sketch of the drow elf in question. Drizzt smirked when he saw Zayana in one of the files, which he placed to one side. A couple of other drow elves he had seen in close proximity to Briza and Dinin during their failed coup, and those files found their way into another pile on his far side.

Turning to Artemis, he asked, "can you read?" The boy nodded, cautiously, and Drizzt handed him the first file off the remaining stack. "I'd like you to find this drow in the compound," he instructed the boy kindly, "follow him, and remember what he does and who he speaks to. If anyone questions you, tell them you're on business for the thirdboy, and I will take it as a personal insult if you are disrupted. They'll leave you alone then. And, Artemis, don't let him see you." The boy nodded and scampered off, almost before Drizzt could tell him to return with Narbondel's dusk. Even within the Do'Urden compound, the Menzoberranzan night was no place for a human child. With that, Drizzt sank into the mountains of paper again. "If I were to try to destroy House Do'Urden," the young warrior mumbled to himself, "where would I start?"

* * *

Zaknafein prowled the battlements at the border of the Do'Urden compound. _Piwafwi _drawn tight around his body and hood pulled up around his face, concealing his presence from all but the sharpest eyes, he crept towards one of the guard-towers carved into the stalagmites that created the compound's boundary. Slowly he ghosted one gloved hand to the handle of the whip hanging from his belt, slipping it free with barely a whisper of sound. Soon Zaknafein crept close enough to slip inside the guard-tower, and a mighty _crack_ rang out, booming against the previous backdrop of complete silence. Zaknafein's whip had been the cause of the crack, entangling the drow warrior supposedly standing guard at this post. A sharp tug on the handle of the whip had the guard on his back, and within a moment, Zaknafein held a dagger at the warrior's throat.

"You're dead," the Do'Urden weapon master growled, "and now the enemy can enter our compound without warning. It seems standards really have slipped in my absence. Get to the training ground, full muster in five minutes."

Five minutes later found Zaknafein prowling again, this time in front of five-score warriors of the Do'Urden garrison. Drow elves were not disposed by nature to organization or teamwork, yet the advantages in military applications were undeniable. And drow elves were very naturally disposed to staying alive by whatever means necessary. It had been some time since Zaknafein had personally taken command of the Do'Urden garrison, having been out of the city for ten years, and before that being willing to leave the command in the hands of Dinin and Rizzen as he focused on Drizzt's training. But the true role of a house's Weapon Master was not merely to teach its young warriors the way of the blade, but to be responsible for the defense of the house, and, when necessary, the prosecution of war.

Zaknafein was well aware that his reputation had been diminished by his time out of Menzoberranzan, and even more so by his injury on his return. He could see uncertainty in the eyes of some of the Do'Urden footsoldiers, wondering if Zaknafein Do'Urden's legend was just that, a legend, or if he was truly to be feared, and in the eyes of others, scorn, or arrogance. Only those whom he had already surprised out on the battlements showed due respect in their expressions. "Attention!" he snapped, frowning as the assembled warriors shuffled to a weak resemblance of order. Jarlaxle's Bregan D'Aerthe rogues had had better discipline, not to mention the true discipline of some of the professional armies he had observed on the surface. Drow warriors would never be able to suffer that level of homogeneity. 'Time to make a statement,' he mused internally. Aloud, he said, "Anyone who thinks they are a strong warrior, step forward." Unsurprisingly, most of the warriors did indeed step forward. Zaknafein's keen eyes sought out the faces of those who had not. Either they were indeed weak, or they were smarter than most. And the weak did not survive long in Menzoberranzan. Pointing at the largest of the warriors who had stepped forward, an elf almost six feet in height, with a huge sword strapped to his back, he said, "Come forward. We will duel. If you lose, you can work in the kitchens for a week. And if you win, well, you can be the new Weapon Master of House Do'Urden." If the shocked gasps that had run through the assembled warriors at the insult of expecting a drow warrior to do menial work in the kitchens had been loud, the roar of inrushing breath and quick chatter at Zaknafein's second statement was deafening. Those murmurs rose to full-fledged shouts as the Weapon Master drew a thin strip of silk from a pouch and tied it around his eyes, before sliding twin swords from their scabbards and settling into a ready position.

Zaknafein fought to steady his breathing as his keen ears picked up the whisper of a greatsword sliding from its scabbard. This was a risk worth taking, to be sure, but a risk nonetheless. Hopefully he had picked the correct opponent, reading the large elf with the huge sword as a straightforward brawler without too much by way of cunning. A cunning drow elf, Zaknafein knew, would simply pull out their hand-crossbow and fire a bolt right at their blindfolded opponent. The moment his ears picked up the larger drow's movement, however, all Zaknafein's trepidation sank away, and he lost himself in the currents of the battle. The moment he sensed his opponent begin to swing the heavy greatsword, he dashed forward and sideways, strafing around to his opponent's backhand. Stabbing both swords forward, he met resistance as a hasty backstroke pushed his lighter weapons aside, but before his opponent could capitalize, he was moving again, rolling forward and striking upwards with a quick kick towards his opponent's groin. He had misjudged the distance slightly, and was forced to pivot speedily to place his swords in the way of the heavy greatsword as it whistled towards him, then rolled backwards with the momentum.

Zaknafein's opponent had apparently learned caution, as no steps towards the Weapon Master were forthcoming. This put the blindfolded drow in a disadvantageous position, as the offensive was a much harder tempo to take while blindfolded than the defensive, and offered no opportunities for an opportunistic counter-attack. But Zaknafein was not only skilled, but wily and experienced, and he knew that within moments the fight would be over in his favour.

Two quick strides closed the distance between combatants, and Zaknafein chopped down hard on his opponent's guard with a mighty overhand swing, while striking upwards from below with the other, forcing his opponent to block with his greatsword and then pirouette away, followed quickly by the blindfolded swordmaster. A hasty step caused the unsighted Zaknafein to trip on his own heel, and his opponent took advantage, swinging down at the swordmaster's flailing form, only to discover he had been lured in by a feint. Fully in control of his body, Zaknafein twisted out of the way of the strike, chopped down hard with one sword on top of his opponent's blade to trap it in place, and then, position judged perfectly, reached out to just nick his opponent's flesh, right next to the jugular, with his other sword.

In the hushed silence of his victory, Zaknafein reached up and pulled away his blindfold, before flashing a predatory smile towards the watching warriors. "If anyone has any objection to me continuing my role as House Do'Urden's Weapon Master," he stated drolly, "voice them now." Unsurprisingly, there were no objections. "In that case," Zaknafein continued, "it's time to get started on our new training regime." Somehow, the next smile he gave was even more predatory, and not a few of the assembled warriors flinched involuntarily.

* * *

When Artemis finally returned, Drizzt rose from the pile of parchments and walked with the boy towards the mess hall, questioning him on his task of the day. The human replied with short, succinct statements about his target, and Drizzt got the sense that his young bodyguard was more than passingly familiar with skulking on rooftops and breaking into windows. When they returned, Drizzt bypassed the war room and stepped into the Weapons Hall, sweeping the fabric cover from the huge rack of weapons in one corner of the room, much as Zaknafein had done for him over a decade earlier. "The dagger is a good weapon for close quarters," Drizzt said to the wide-eyed boy, "but I think we can make a swordsman out of you. Try them all, see what you like."

Artemis gravitated immediately to a thin shortsword, almost a long dirk for an adult, but at Artemis' size it resembled a slim longsword, the kind a duelist would use as his main-hand weapon. He slipped the shortsword from its sheath and flourished the blade, getting a feel for the weight. Behind the human child, Drizzt smirked, remembering his own initiation to swordplay under Zaknafein's tutelage. Unbuckling the belt that held his scimitars, Drizzt gently placed his trusty weapons down and stepped over to the rack himself, selecting a standard longsword, gripping it in two hands. While Drizzt rarely used anything other than his scimitars, Zaknafein had insisted he become at least conversant with most standard weapons and quite a few non-standard weapons as well.

Once he had taken a few steps away, Drizzt motioned for Artemis to start an attack, and, hesitantly, he did so, swinging at Drizzt's left side, easily blocked by the drow warrior. Artemis stepped away, and then, motioned on by Drizzt, stepped forward again, this time attacking with an overhand strike, once again easily parried. Drizzt rotated his hands and slashed horizontally towards Artemis' off-hand side, and the young human scurried to move his blade into the way of Drizzt's, getting there just in time. A counter-attack came quicker this time, Artemis surprising Drizzt with a near-textbook lunge that the drow elf had to move quickly to block. Seeing that Artemis had overextended himself, Drizzt pressed the advantage, cutting quickly towards his bodyguard's open side, only to meet the resistance of the blade of the jeweled dagger that had appeared in a flash in Artemis' hand. Drizzt grinned, and a quick twist of his sword bound Artemis' weapon and then pulled it out of his hands. "Not bad for a first attempt," Drizzt praised, "I think we can most certainly make a swordsman out of you." Artemis grinned back at Drizzt, and within moments the true lesson was underway.


	4. Zegorath's

**Chapter 4: Zegorath's**

Narbondel's descent found Drizzt Do'Urden levitating alone above the Do'Urden compound, looking outwards at the city of Menzoberranzan, shimmering in the infrared spectrum of drow eyesight, faerie fire limning the silhouettes of the compounds of Menzoberranzan's noble houses, the beauty of the pale light flickering on the grand architecture of the City of the Drow belying the viciousness of its inhabitants. Drizzt's own emotions split between wonder at the beauty of the city and sadness at the destruction and violence that controlled the city's population. Even now, in the calm of Menzoberranzan's night, the denizens of House Do'Urden and more than three-score other houses of the city had to keep constant watch around their holdings, even vigilant against the constant threat posed by their neighbours. Drizzt exhaled, and slowly sank to the ground, as if deflating, lavender eyes and pure conscience hardening to the same substance as the stone he approached. Loosening his _piwafwi_, he unfolded from his lotus-like meditative position in time for his bootheels to touch the ground, and strode towards the main building, cloak rippling behind him as he moved through the still air of the underdark.

It had been months now since the return of Nalfein and Zaknafein, bringing with them the new arrival, his human bodyguard, Artemis, and the attack of Faen Tlabbar, now No House Worth Mentioning, on the Do'Urden compound, and the failed coup that followed. Drizzt had been working tirelessly all this time, splitting his time between two tasks, training Artemis in swordsmanship and securing the defense of the Do'Urden holdings. While Zaknafein and the warriors he led were responsible for the defense of the Do'Urden compound and the main house, House Do'Urden could not continue to thrive, or indeed survive, without the income derived from its holdings outside of the city. Any enemy would be wise to begin their attacks on House Do'Urden with attacks on these holdings, a lesson that had not been learned by arrogant Hun'ett or zealous Faen Tlabbar. But House Do'Urden now had many enemies, and enemies of great cunning.

This was what made it so strange that despite the passing of months, not a single movement had been made against House Do'Urden, overt or covert. And so, tasked with the defense of his house's holdings, Drizzt desperately needed information. Reaching his destination, the War Room of House Do'Urden, Drizzt looked around at the small gathering sat waiting for him. "Thank you for coming," he spoke to the assembled group. "It's time I explain why you're here." Directly opposite him, a gangly human adolescent with red eyes smirked at him. Artemis had shot up in size recently, and his formerly athletic body had become toned and muscular as a result of the training Drizzt had put him through. Artemis was still able to move with the grace he had developed as a child thief, however, and, when he put up the hood on his ever-present _piwafwi_, he could become just as invisible as any drow warrior. All the other eyes in the room looked on curiously. They had not been briefed on anything, merely received a note stating in no uncertain terms that they must attend the thirdboy in the War Room on this evening. And that was not a summons any drow male of House Do'Urden was likely to disobey. Lazing in a chair next to Artemis was Khazra, one of House Do'Urden's small complement of wizards. He was the one Drizzt had observed for longest before deciding to add to the team. Wizards could be arrogant and unpredictable, their mastery of the arcane arts conferring an occasionally valid, yet far too often invalid, sense of superiority. Had the need for the divining arts and warding dweomers of a wizard been any less pressing, Drizzt would have done without one entirely, but as it was, he hoped he had picked the best one available. Next to Khazra, thumbing a long scar below the socket where his left eye had once been, was an old yet wily warrior named Yalael. Yalael had been old when Zaknafein and Malice were born, yet had once been a bright prospect among House Do'Urden's warriors, even being sent to Melee-Magthere, unusually for a commoner of what had been at the time a small and poor house. The battle that had cost him his eye had taken place shortly after his graduation, however, and only his skills as a trainer had kept him from being turned out as a houseless rogue. The drow were not sentimental, and a missing eye was quite enough of a disability to be turned out without other skills to rely on. This had led to Yalael building a repertoire of useful skills to ensure his continued place in the Do'Urden garrison, and Drizzt planned to take full advantage of the elderly elf's life experience as well as his arsenal of tricks.

The final occupant of the room, though not the final member of Drizzt's taskforce, was small even for a drow male. Barely topping five feet, Ghazryn seemed barely more than a child despite his two centuries of age, but he had incredibly quick hands and feet, despite his lack of strength to back up his speed. Drizzt imagined that when his small group inevitably encountered violence he would have to do most of the fighting himself, but the trade-off was worth it for the experience and stealth that his companions would provide.

Drizzt slid the door closed behind him, activating the privacy wards that covered the War Room, then settled himself into the remaining chair. Unrolling a map on the table around which they had gathered, he weighed down the corners with carved ebony paperweights, and then placed small carvings on certain places of interest on the map; stone rothe for the numerous rothe farms that House Do'Urden operated outside the city, competition for the rothe farms of House Hunzrin in the Donigarten. The Fifteenth House, Drizzt doubted that Hunzrin would attack Do'Urden directly, but they would not pass up an opportunity to disrupt another House's agriculture should the opportunity arise. Stone kobolds wielding pickaxes marked Do'Urden mines, and stone lizards, great bundles strapped to their backs, marked the approximate locations of trading caravans operated by House Do'Urden. Drizzt had carved the icons himself, the task allowing him to keep his dexterous hands busy while he was deep in thought, or on sleepless nights. "These are the locations of House Do'Urden's financial assets," he told his companions, as he placed a few more carvings, various images adorning them for Do'Urden's various business ventures. "Matron Malice has tasked us with defending these locations from our enemies, who would strike at our assets to weaken our house before striking at us directly. So far, we have had no reports of any enemy action, and that worries me. It is a given that many houses are plotting against us, whether actively or merely ready to seize any opportunity, yet nothing has happened since the attack of Faen Tlabbar. I think it is time that we take the initiative."

Yalael cleared his throat and then spoke, reedy voice crackling like aged parchment. "So you decided to get a wizard, a cripple, and a midget to help you? Wouldn't a company of Do'Urden guards be better?"

"If we were going to war," Drizzt replied levelly, "Perhaps. But we are not, and House Do'Urden cannot afford to lose a company of warriors from the garrison. Already we have fewer troops than we would need to be assured of victory in any conflict. No, Yalael, what we need is drow who have more skills than just the blade. But if it makes you feel any better, we have a priestess with us as well. She's already tracking down a lead, but we will catch up to her later, I'm sure." Yalael sat back in his seat, thumbing his scar again. Drizzt resumed speaking. "I have compiled a list of all the houses that have the might or the interest to do us harm, and cross-referenced with the targets that they would be most likely to choose. In addition, I have referenced that to their relations with other houses, and compiled a list of which houses could stand to benefit by blaming an attack of their own on another house." With that, Drizzt handed out a sheath of parchments to each drow, as well as one to Artemis. "Memorize this when you can, but it is not to leave this room." He looked around sternly. "If any of this information makes its way out of this room, I will find whichever of you is responsible and disembowel you." Hard eyes stared out, and hard eyes stared back. Threats of violence, however substantiated, were not uncommon in Menzoberranzan.

Drizzt fleshed out a few more of the details, but before too long he began to usher his companions out of the war room, and towards the exit of the Do'Urden compound. One by one, they slipped over the wall and out into the Menzoberranzan night. When only Drizzt and Artemis remained, he tugged the adolescent's cloak to get his attention. "Wrap yourself in your _piwafwi_ tight," he whispered, "a human in Menzoberranzan is easily recognizable as belonging to House Do'Urden. And be careful, drow are even less kind to other races than they are to other drow." In response, Artemis pulled his hood tighter and slipped over the wall. Drizzt sighed. His young bodyguard was talented, but Artemis didn't seem to realize that the drow were true masters of stealth and deceit, far beyond even the master thieves of human cities such as Calimport. He hoped the young human wouldn't have to learn that lesson the hard way. Slipping a figurine out of his pouch, he placed it on the ground. "Come, Guenhwyvar," he whispered, and smoke swirled as the astral panther appeared. Drizzt reached out to gently stroke her soft fur as he knelt beside her. "Khazra, Yalael, and Ghazryn have begun their task," he whispered in the ear of the supernaturally intelligent cat. "Follow them as we discussed. Artemis should be within reach if you need him." Guenhwyvar allowed one last pet from Drizzt, then sprang over the wall, becoming one with the darkness before she even passed the border of the compound. Last of his companions dispatched, Drizzt returned to the main building, scimitars swinging at his hips, taking no steps to conceal his movements or the bright violet of his eyes. Minutes later, concealed beyond the ability of all but the sharpest of drow eyes to see, a shape slipped out a side exit of the same building, _piwafwi_ hood pulled low over the eyes, two dirks hanging at its belt the only visible weapons. No House markings were visible on any of the sneaking being's clothing, as it followed the same covert route out of the compound.

* * *

Zayana had left the Do'Urden compound in the middle of the day, travelling with a group of Do'Urden priestesses through the West Wall district and into the Duthcloim district, browsing the permanent stores of the wealthy mercantile district on their way into the center of Menzoberranzan's commerce, the Bazaar. Here, Zayana had, as planned, unobtrusively detached herself from the Do'Urden group, purportedly to find a dealer of certain illicit substances of which Matron Malice wished to keep the purchase secret, but this was merely a layer of the intrigue, a story told to her companion priestesses on the off-chance that any of them would provide information on her activities to outside parties. In fact, she was there on behalf of Drizzt. Once she slipped away from the group, she had found an unobtrusive spot within the bazaar, and, with the power of a prayer to Lloth, cast Meld into Stone, sinking into the floor of the cavern. From within, to the best of her ability, she attempted to eavesdrop on the outside world, to varying degrees of success.

Hours within the stone gave Zayana time for introspection, when the conversation above was either uninteresting or inaudible. Formerly a commoner priestess of House Hun'ett, she had jumped ship to House Do'Urden after their defeat of her former house, and jumped quickly in bed with their thirdboy, Drizzt Do'Urden, the prodigy who had killed her father, the renowned Blademaster Kas'im, while barely more than a child. One house was much the same as another to Zayana, and one lover likewise much the same as another, and she knew that Drizzt did not exclusively share her bed, much as she did not exclusively share his. And yet, she mused, there was something about the lavender-eyed thirdboy that made her want Do'Urden to be successful, and made her want him more than any of her other lovers. And it wasn't just his skill with his 'sword'. So now, though by rights a drow female should rank above a male, Zayana was happy to be working for Drizzt on this project. He had brought her in almost immediately, introducing her to Artemis, his strange 'human' bodyguard, of a race that apparently dominated much of the surface. One of Drizzt's many quirks was his demand that she treat Artemis with the respect she would give any warrior, and his strange insistence that the adolescent was not a 'slave', but a 'bodyguard'. Zayana had been pressed into service immediately to cast spells of clairvoyance and do more routine scouting, such as this, while also assisting Drizzt, Artemis and Guenhwyvar in their scouting for the three other members of their company. Many drow of House Do'Urden had been considered and debated, but she was pleased with the three that had been selected in the end. Idly, she wondered if Drizzt had called them together yet, and how the meeting was going. He had changed, she mused, since she first met him, that night on the roof where they had had sex out in the open Menzoberranzan air. He had been emotional then, full of strange ideas about right and wrong, apologetic for the death of her father, regardless of the fact that Kas'im had been cruel, hated, and most importantly, weaker than him, and therefore deserving of his fate. Now that side of Drizzt, his strange softness and emotion, only came through in glimpses, when he thought no-one was looking, with Artemis, or Guenhwyvar, or Zaknafein, on the brief occasions that the Weapon Master could step away from training the garrison. Now Drizzt was hard and cool as the Underdark stone, forged in war as his adamantine blades were in the duegar furnaces. She liked the thrill of his new sense of danger, but she couldn't help but feel that something was missing now, even if the drow language didn't have the facility to describe what.

At long last, the Bazaar began to clear out, with the slow descent of Narbondel, the teams of older students from Tier-Breche sweeping through the streets to clear out stragglers part of Mezoberranzan's comprehensive facade of law and order covering the true chaos of the City of the Drow. Careful not to be seen, Zayana slipped out of the stone, drawing her unmarked _piwafwi _tight as she crept through the now empty marketplace, dodging patrols and lingering merchants, heading around the Clawrift and into the common district of Eastmyr. Again she took pains not to be seen, though most drow elves were now inside. Except in times of war, only one area of the city truly bustled at night, her destination, the Stenchstreets of the Braeryn district.

The transition was dramatic as she entered the Stenchstreets. No borderline was drawn or marked, at least to her knowledge, but within a few hundred paces the dark, empty calm of Eastmyr gave way to raucous shouting, awful smells, and a myriad of races, especially goblinoid. Zayana drew her _piwafwi _tighter still and used the extent of her willpower to keep from shuddering in disgust. Looking even a little out of place was a clarion-call of vulnerability to the inhabitants of Braeryn. Zayana passed gambling dens, seedy restaurants, and sellers of the less productive varieties of illicit goods alongside crowded residences packed with hundreds of filthy, ragged bodies. Taking turns in quick succession, she attempted to shake off any pursuit, though she doubted anyone of import had managed to track her. Finally, she arrived at her destination, an unassuming shack at the end of a dirty alleyway.

Stepping inside, the gloom and stench of the outside streets faded away, replaced by clear, though dim, purple lighting and clean, fresh air. An armored hobgoblin stepped forward, spear in hand and a look of suspicion on its face. "Ticket?" the hobgoblin croaked.

"I don't have one," she replied. "I'll be paying cash."

The hobgoblin frowned, and brandished the spear threateningly. "Cash is no good tonight, special guests. Gotta have a ticket."

Zayana shook her head at the brutish attempt at intimidation. She supposed the hobgoblin could be telling the truth, but if this place truly lived up to its reputation, any guests worth being known as 'special' would be well-advised not to advertise their presence. Herself included. "Cash," she repeated, "and I'll take a discount for your wasting my time." With that, she stepped forward boldly, dropped a couple of coins in the hobgoblin's hand, and strode past the foul creature. It didn't even have time to protest before she stepped through the door at the end of the hall, and into the main part of the location.

_Zergorath's_ was part-casino, part-marketplace, and part-brokerage. Built around an oval arena, hundreds of private booths were staggered up the side of a huge amphitheatrical pit. Zayana made her way past a variety of booths, some with drawn curtains and dweomers of privacy, others with curtains wide open, occupants of multitudinous races staring down into the arena, cursing one contestant or cheering another. Eventually, she reached her destination booth, and settled into a padded couch, gazing down disinterestedly at the arena where three goblins fought to death on the sand, crude wooden spears a mockery of the typical weapons of the goblin tribes, far removed from the enchanted forged weapons of the drow.

* * *

Seeing his target enter the alcove in which he waited, stuck to the ceiling by his innate drow powers of levitation, near invisible beneath his _piwafwi_, Drizzt unfolded himself and drifted down slowly, barely generating the slightest breeze as he touched down gently behind the unaware drow female. "You're here," he said curtly, noting with dissatisfaction Zayana's slight jump, confirming that she had been unaware of his presence. "Do try to be aware of your surroundings," he reprimanded, "as I rather prefer you alive." In a flash, he reached out and pulled the curtains closed, triggering the privacy dweomers to activate over the booth.

Zayana shook out her long white hair, allowing the hood on her _piwafwi_ to drop for the first time in over twelve hours. "How did you get here before me?" she questioned angrily in reply. "You weren't even supposed to leave the compound until an hour ago."

"Sprinted," Drizzt replied with a shrug. "Still, it was close. I snuck past you while you were talking to that guard. Nice work, by the way," he grinned, "with you distracting him I didn't even have to pay. But enough of that. Artemis and Guen are following the new recruits. What did you learn in the Bazaar?" For the past few weeks Drizzt and Zayana had not even said a word to each other within the Do'Urden compound, hoping to distract unfriendly eyes from the nature of their work together. Each plot had layers among layers.

Zayana spoke quickly, giving a condensed rendition of the highlights of what she had heard, nothing concrete, but whispers upon whispers to add to the rumours they had been collecting for months. In return, Drizzt handed her a sheaf of parchment containing his own notes; financials stolen from merchants and other houses, troop movements and exercises observed by Do'Urden spies and Bregan D'Aerthe mercenaries, and purchasing records from the slave auctions, with sections highlighted especially for purchases of the more militaristic races. A random goblin attack on a Do'Urden holding would be plausibly deniable for any house ordering such a thing from their goblin slaves, with a promise of freedom for the survivors.

Before long, the transition of information was complete, and Drizzt pulled his hood low to cover his distinctive eyes, allowing Zayana time to pull up her own hood before opening the curtains and gazing down at the arena, waving over a kobold servant to place a bet on the next bout, as was to be expected of a drow elf at _Zegorath's_ for no covert reason. There was an image to uphold after all. And of course, a master swordsman himself, Drizzt was preternaturally good at selecting winners. He always ended the night with a full coin-purse. Slumping down in the plush couch, Drizzt allowed Zayana to take on the role of a dominant drow female, and himself a subservient male, tasked only with pleasing his mistress. A convenient cover for their secrecy, and the previous need for privacy. Better any onlookers believed it was an uninteresting, if illicit, tryst, than what it truly was.


End file.
